


This is Why You Lock Your Door in Avengers Tower

by mithrel



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blanket Permission, Denial, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot, Podfic Welcome, Smut, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil gets ambushed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Why You Lock Your Door in Avengers Tower

He should go back to SHIELD. They have less paperwork. And considering there are only six Avengers and hundreds of SHIELD employees that’s a hell of a statement.

He opens his door, wanting only a shower and bed, and promptly drops his briefcase. “Barton!”

Because Agent Clint Barton is spread out on his bed, entirely naked, with his fingers in his ass.

And the bastard just grins at him, gives a half-wave with the hand not otherwise occupied.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Barton raises a brow at him, and Phil _knows_ he’s going to make a sarcastic comment. “What the hell are you doing _here?_ ” he modifies.

“I’d have thought…that was obvious.”

So much for getting a straight answer. Barton doesn’t even have the decency to stop what he’s doing, and Phil can’t help noting details; he was trained for it.

Barton’s hard, his skin sheened with sweat, hair sticking to his flushed face. He’s panting, making little thrusts of his hips, and Phil’s eyes go to where Barton’s fingers disappear inside him before he can stop them.

He needs to leave, _now._ He hadn’t done anything about his attraction to Clint because a handler sleeping with his asset would be inappropriate. And, as Barton’s so aptly demonstrating now, _one_ of them has to have a sense of propriety.

He’s moved a step closer to the bed. He doesn’t remember doing it.

Barton crooks his fingers and makes a broken sound, and he definitely needs to leave now. He’s not sure whether to put this incident in Barton’s file–combined with all the other incidents it will certainly get him reassigned at the least–he’ll worry about it when he can think more clearly.

When Clint Barton’s not moaning like a whore in his bed.

He’s another step closer to the bed now, almost close enough to touch, not quite, but he’s going to leave, turn around and walk out the door and give Barton the privacy he doesn’t deserve…

His hand lands on Barton’s naked hip, and he’s gasping “ _Phil!_ ” and Coulson melts onto him, ignoring his shoes and his clothes, his hand snaking behind Barton’s neck to pull him up, and he kisses like a whore too.

Barton’s– _Clint’s_ –hands come up, sticky with lube, and he’s going to have stains on his suit jacket but he doesn’t care, and Clint’s yanking at his tie as Phil toes off his shoes, then finally breaks away from Clint’s mouth to gasp.

Clint’s trying to undo his shirt now, but the buttons are too much for his lube-slick fingers and Phil bats him away, undoing the buttons, the normally-practiced motion clumsy while Clint goes for his belt.

Phil kisses him again and Clint’s hands move up from his waist to his back, his fingers crooking, almost clawing, and Phil gets his pants undone and shoved down and off, and Clint’s pulling away to tear open a condom and roll it on.

Phil grabs the tube of lube beside him on the bed, slicks up and presses in, not checking to see if Clint’s loose enough, but it’s fine, he’s ready and Phil slides in in one smooth push.

“You’re _impossible!_ ” he growls, because really, Clint Barton would try the patience of a saint, and he’s shaking under him, his lips curving up against Phil’s own and he slaps him on the hip because it isn’t funny.

Clint yelps and breaks the kiss, but then he bucks under him and Phil’s pulling out and slamming in, unable to think anymore, unable to _breathe_ because of Agent Clint goddamn Barton.

And then Clint’s clenching around him and digging his nails into his back and everything dissolves into a roar of black-and-white-spotted sound.

He collapses next to Barton, who for once isn’t smirking, too busy trying to catch his breath.

And Phil’s own chest is heaving and his brain abruptly reengages and he goes pale.

But now Barton’s propping up on an elbow and panting out “I _knew…_ you were human after all.”

Phil puts an arm over his eyes, restraining a groan.

“I…should go.”

And the fact that Clint, for once, doesn’t sound cocky and sure of himself, like he did the entire time, like he always does, is what changes his mind.

He sighs and looks at Clint. “Since we’ve already had sex, you might as well spend the night.”

Later, when he wakes up with Barton nestled against him, he figures maybe he made the right choice after all.


End file.
